.162 H6 

1914 





Class / c ) C 



Book 

Copyright N° 



COPYK!GHT DEPOS-T. 



JINGLETS 



HOME-MADE 



J I NG LETS 




CAST IN THE ROUGH 

AT 

ODD TIMES 



BY 
FRANK MOODY MILLS 

(EFFEM) 



19 14 

SESSIONS- MANNIX CO. 
SIOUX FALLS. S. D. 






Copyright 1914 

By 

Frank Moody Mills 



SESSIONS-MANNIX PRINTING CO- 



SIOUX FALLS. S. D 



NOV 27 vW 

©CI.A387721 



This Volume of Verses is 
Affectionately Inscribed 
to the Loved Ones who in- 
spired THEM AND ON WHOSE 
INSISTENCETHEY ARE PRINTED 



^3 

T HEN ring the octaves up and down 

1 la spite of wind or weather, 
We'll meet what comes without a frown 
While our hearts chime in together. 



THE WHY OF IT 

yHE Verses in this Volume were written at odd times in 
•*• the hurry of a long and busy life. They are not 
claimed to be poems but only simple rhymes, a sort o' bub- 
bling over you know, a legacy from a mother full of senti- 
ment and poetry. They are printed here, good and bad to- 
gether. Take them for what they are worth. 

While, not depreciating the value and sweetness of 
kisses will say by way of explanation of the undue proportion 
of verses in this volume devoted to the kiss, that they were 
written when I was in the publishing business while I was 
compiling an Anthology of the Kiss and incidentally made 
some contributions thereto myself. The Love Songs herein 
were also written to go in a companion volume. 

Retiring from the business the books were not published 
as contemplated, but may yet be given to the public. 

A few of the Jinglets have appeared in newspapers and 
magazines but nearly all of them are here printed for the 
first time. — The Author. 



CONTENTS 



Absent But Not Forgotten 43 

A Fateful Moonlight Serenade 105 

A First Effort 127 

After 116 

A June Idyl 25 

A Love Letter in Rhyme 41 

A Maiden's Foot 4 9 

A March Birthday 77 

An Acceptance 114 

An Easter Birthday ?2 

Another Birthday 75 

A Springtime Birthday 39 

A Truly, True Love Story 83 

Bible Lessons — Triolets 51 

Birthday Souvenir 82 

Bridged Jinglet 108 

Christmas Dinner 118 

Composite Valentine 82 

Contrasts 31 

Disputed the Count 107 

Down on his Luck 50 

Fair, Fat and Forty 98 

Easter Morn 56 

Eff emorisms HI 

Flag of the Free 5 8 

Flitting Joys 76 

From Mary Up the Tree 95 

Grace Before Meat 63 

Her Easter Bonnet 62 

His Birthday 100 

Hymn 8 

I Loved a Lass 114 

In Lighter Vein 87 

In the Wrestling Game of Lifn 115 

Kid's Corner 117 

Kitty McGee 125 

L'Assasmoir 47 

Leap Year Kisses 35 

Lent, Easy to be Good HI 

13 



Contents 



Life, Best of, Went Long Ago 73 

Life's Drama 79 

Little Barefoot's Christmas 122 

Little Old Man 122 

Love's Chimes 29 

Love's Five Senses 46 

Love's Laconics 74 

Love's Perjury 107 

Love's Retrospect 66 

Making of the Poem 17 

Mary Up the Tree 95 

May Each Returning Year 112 

Moonlight Serenade 105 

Mother-in-Law 112 

Much-Marrying Man 89 

Nineteen Hundred 115 

Nit 113 

Nothin' New Under the Sun 123 

Not Inconstant 78 

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep 27 

One and Forty 99 

One Kiss More 37 

On the Half Shell 64 

Poeta Nascitur Non Fit 108 

Poetry by the Yard 96 

Queen of Clubs 91 

Reconciliation 60 

Renunciation 97 

Second Generation Lyrics 127 

Shooting the Chutes 124 

Sol in Eclipse 113 

Somebody Loves Me 61 

Sonnet to the Kiss 53 

Spicewood vs. Sassafras 92 

Sweet are the Uses of Adversity 115 

Sweethearts Birthday 55 

Thanksgiving Grace 63 

The Best of Life 73 

The Bridged Jinglet 108 

The Daughter to the Mother 65 

The Heart Ne'er Grows Old 115 

The Latter Day Utopia 87 

The Message of the Birds 81 

14 



Contents 



The New Year 109 

The Optimists Dream 33 

The Rose and the Thorn 82 

The Poet Laureate 112 

The Outcast 57 

The Rose on Her Breast 48 

The Rose or The Lily 4 6 

The Why Of It 12 

The Wild Rose 60 

The World all a Fleeting Show 113 

These Women 53 

Trilby at Zero 103 

Trilby's Epigram 113 

Triolets — Bible Lessons 51 

To E. on Her Birthday 69 

To the Author of My Lady's Violin 23 

Truly, True Love Story 83 

What is there Amiss Ill 

What it Means 128 

When Fair Lady 117 

When Mary Climbed the Tree 94 

Widow Red Hen's Party 117 

Why I Love Her 54 



15 



THE MAKING OF THE POEM 

'"T" , go hunting outside of bounds 
* And be found poaching on other's grounds, 
Makes one feel about as cheap 
As if he'd been caught stealing sheep. 
So, one, who's always stuck to prose 
And wrote only that of which he knows — 
But somehow lands in another set 
When he strays out of his own, you bet — 
Feels like the farmer in evening clothes 
Who puts on a bold face 'mongst belles and beaux, 
As tho' he was one of them and yet, 
Knows he's not up in etiquette, 
And so I feel when making rhymes, 
As I'm constrained to do betimes, 
That all the poets who my way pass, 
Are crying out "Keep off the grass," 
Or saying, sarcastic like: "Go hence! 
You'd better keep your side the fence." 
But yet the rhymes keep bubbling up 
And o'erflowing my little cup, 
And so I kind o' sort o' think, 
As at the poetic fount I seldom drink 
Where so many others have drank galore, 
That I may sip a little more. 

17 



The Making of the Poem 

But when I essay the muse to court, 
Scarce knowing yet what is my forte, 
With trembling heart I hesitate 
While waiting at the entrance gate; 
The fields of Poesy so many are, 
I know not which gate's for me ajar. 

Here the field of waving corn; 

Here the grove where Love was born; 

Here the meadow with lowing kine; 

There the hill-side with clustered vine; 

The valley with the rippling brook; 

The shady corner and Lover's nook; 
All are open to him who dares — 
Whether for good or ill, he only, cares. 

In the Muse's workshop are stock and tools 
For use of the wise yet free to fools; 
There's Youth and Love and Joy and Hope, 
There's Health and Wealth and water and soap; 
There are dimpled chins and bright blue eyes, 
And ruby lips and lover's sighs 
And shrieks and groans and sweetest kisses, 
Bachelors and widows, old maids and misses, 
With blood and thunder and black mustaches 
And curly locks and divers mashes, 
And, (most important, blundering stupid, 
You came near forgetting), the essential Cupid; 
For Cupid left out is like Hamlet omitted 
For which Poet nor Player could e'er be acquitted. 

IS 



The Making of the Poem 

There too all the quirks and tricks of the trade, 
The old and the new, can be found ready-made; 
The Iambus, the Trochee, the Dactyl, and Epodes, 
The Anapest, the Ditheramb, and the various strophes, 
The rule too to use when fitting the feet 
To find out by scanning if your verse is complete — 
To measure your Distich, your Triolet, your Quatrain, 
Your Sestines or Sonnets or whatever s your pattern, 
(I will say here parenthetically in fear of the Critic, 
That these lines are not subject to rules analytic). 
Then the Proem, the Prelude, the Interlude, the Finale, 
And what the French call "L'envoi" O shade of Svengali! 
This rhyme is worked in because it is new; 
Either Folly or Trolly would just as well do. 

With materials at hand you've then to decide 
On the metre and measure and — all else beside — 
Whether an Ode it shall be or a simple bucolic 
Of Virgins and Youths on a pastoral frolic, 
An Epic heroic or a metrical Lyric; — 
Dramatic, historic, tragic, comic, idyllic; 
Whether Canzonet, Rondeau, Ballad or Ditty 
Or sentimental Romanza of country or city — 
Rhapsody, or Monody or in what category 
Is the form you will choose for your versified story — 
But perhaps after all the great worry and bother, 
Like me you'll scarce know the one from the other, 
Whether the blankest of Verse or very poor Rhyme, 
Without meter or measure and in raggedest Rag-Time. 

19 



The Making of the Poem 

Your next step will be to go to the Court, 

Not the Court of the last but the first resort, 

For a Poet's License you'll need and should haste to secure 

That to all his immunities you may promptly inure. 

For with one of these permits you can write at your ease, 

Make new words to suit you or spell as you please — 

Take any liberties you choose with Fancy or Fact 

Without need of conscience or brain being racked, 

And if any should charge you with offence 'gainst the muse 

You can show 'em your license and claim King's excuse; 

But you must not go so far as to filch from some brother, 

Unless done so deftly that none can discover. 

But if 'tis found out that the deed you have done, 

Then loudly protest: "Nothing new under the sun." 

All else being ready, your subject selected, 
You bravely start out on the plan you've projected; — 
But first you'd best choose, like the artist, your model, 
On whose style to fashion the conceits of your noddle; 

There's Chaucer and Milton, and Dryden and Smith, 
And Byron and Shakespeare, the Baconian Myth; 
Homer the blind beggar, with his Odyssey and Iliad, 
Virgil, the sweet singer with his Georgics and Aeneid, 
Harte's Heathen Chinee with his tricks that are vain, 
John Hay whose "Gilgal knows its own whisky skin," 
The dead and gone Laureate and his feeble successor 
Who of the toadying chair makes an able professor. 
The "Sweet Singer of Michigan" and the Poet of the Prairies 

20 



The Making of the Poem 

Spencer and Palmer Cox with their Brownies and Fairies, 
Then James Whitcomb Riley and Tacitus Hussey, 
Frank Stanton, Eugene Field and sweet Gerald Massey, 
Tom Moore, Bobby Burns, Longfellow and Saxe, 
Both genders of Browning and Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 
And other feminine poets, not to ignore 
L. E. L., Sappho and good Hannah Moore, 
Then Swinburne, Walt Whitman and Iowa's Major Byers, 
On his "March to the Sea," still feeding camp fires, 
If for lack of fuel to burn he should e'er feel dejected 
We rhymesters can supply him with Mss, marked "rejected." 
Then Bryant, Whittier, Aldrich, Goethe, Frisbie and Schiller, 
Theocritus, Jack Crawford and bold Joaquin Miller. 
I've grouped them you see sans regard to chronology 
For which to the living I may owe an apology. 

If before studying these masters you were the least bit in- 
flated, 
I'm sure that by now you are so intimidated 
That like me you'll conclude to cut yourself loose 
And take for your model the renowned Mother Goose, 
And sadly acknowledge, when the judgment is final, 
That you only write fairly, the poem caninal. 
For as very small boats should keep near the shore 
So short-winged birds like me, should no more 
Boldly attempt any great flight Fegasian, 
Than lubber to climb to heights Parnassian, 
For we perchance might take a slump 
And come down quick to earth — kerthump. 

21 



The Making of the Poem 

I've sure no wish to fall so soon 

To be dipped up maybe with a spoon 

Or my scattered diaphragm upraked 

To be earthed in Woodland or by Meds be faked, 

Than this, I'd sooner far be burned 

And on the topmost shelf be urned 

Than be consigned to future flame 

With nothing left, not even a name. 

MORAL 

As in following Mother Goose you don't attempt to fly high, 

And know you can't reach to the top of the sky 

So if you do happen to fall a discomfited bard 

It don't hurt so bad if you don't hit the ground hard. 



2-2 



TO THE AUTHOR OF "MY LADY'S VIOLIN" 

I like best old friend, the vein you're in 
When you play on "My Lady's Violin," 
And I venture to say that I think it a sin 
You don't oftener draw the bow. 
It's true, when in slumber our souls have been sunk, 
We've been half aroused and have dreamily drunk 
In the measure of the musical plunkety-plunk 
Of your tuneful, sweet banjo, — 

And the music was sweet though the theme might be light 
And the boys "patted juba" with all their might, 
Till the stars had melted out of sight 

But 'twas only a memory by early dawn; — 
Yet the singer if he would could sing the song 
Whose echoes might reach the heavenly throng 
And carry the souls of his hearers along 

And live long after he's gone. 

But why should the author who lives in his books 
On whom society with love and reverence looks, 
Write trifles for gossips or recipes for cooks 

Or ever do aught but his best? 
Or the orator who with his silver tongue 
Can speak as if from Heaven he sprung 
And fire the souls of old or young 

Descend to quip or jest? 



To the Author of "My Lady's Violin" 

Or the artist, whose brush can gild the sun 
And nature depict as if by Heaven 'twere done 
Hang up his laurels already won 

And come down to paint houses and signs? 
Or the architect, who causes cathedrals to rise, 
With domes and towers to pierce the skies, 
Willi BCUlptured columns to delight our eyes. 

For warehouse or barn make designs? 

Or why should the skillful handler of clay 
Who can make works of an that will live alway 
Ami give joy to beholders ilay by day. 

E'er be content to make jars or crocks? 
Or why should the needle bo deft, yet so small, 
Which tapestry can make to grace palace or hall 

When guided by the artistic soul, 

Ever be busy darning socks ? 

Pear Poet, we would not depreciate 
The gems you so cleverly extricate 
From the dialect of your native state 

And which our smiles and plaudits win. 
But we long for that magical twist of your pen 
Which you happily make for us now and again. 
When you draw the bow that gives us the strain 

Such as you play on "My Lady's Violin." 






A JUNE IDYL 



O' 



k H those Bwect June days 
When llrst love's ways 
Made life seem worth the living, 
When midst roses bloom 
My sweetheart came 
To me her warm heart giving. 

The morn was bright. 

Our hearts were light, — 
I asked of love a token, 

Her sweet blue eyes 

Award the prize, 
No need of answer spoken. 

The sun askance. 

With hurried glance, 
Her cheeks with blushes burning, 

Behind a cloud, 

The chance allowed, 
I'd been so long in earning. 

What perfect bliss 

Came with her kiss, 
My senses all beguiling, 

With all her charms 

Close in my arms, 
And Time away was whiling. 
23 



A June Idyl 

But all too soon, 

O lovely June, 
To your days there comes an ending; 

But while you last 

What joys thou hast, 
What hope to fond hearts lending? 

Now every year, 

The month so dear, 
I'll hold in highest honor, 

Remembering the bliss 

Of that first sweet kiss, 
In that June in which I won her. 



2G 



NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP 

A ND now I lay me down to sleep, 
** The sleep which knows no earthly waking, 
The long, lone hours, in silence to keep, 

While perchance, some hearts may be aching. 

June roses may bloom though not for me; 

March winds may blow and December moan; 
The years come and go, sad though they be, 

While taking my rest in my narrow home. 

But I fain would believe that by some I'd be missed 
Who'll think of me oft in life's busy throng; 

That the smiles will be sad on the lips I have kissed 

And to some hearts the days will be weary and long. 

And I grieve as I think of the chances I've wasted 
To do good to my fellows or to frown upon wrong; 

How selfish I've been in the joys I have tasted, — 
How careless of others in much I have done. 

But will any one say as they consign me to dust, 

That I was cruel of heart or of sorrow made jest, 
That I was fickle of purpose or faithless to trust, 

That I e'er wronged my neighbor or the weak e'er op- 
pressed ? 

27 



Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep 

They may say I was weak and do me no wrong; 

That my sins of commission were many and great; 
That my list of omissions was wofully long; 

That I failed of my duties both early and late. 

But they'll know I meant to be true to my friend; 

That to the poor and down-trodden my sympathy was 
given 
For the mercy and help which to others we lend 

Are all we can ask or hope for from Heaven. 

But if in some heart I've caused anguish or pain, 
If to any one's eyes I've e'er brought a tear, 

If on any one's soul I've left shadow or stain, 
May I not be forgiven as I lie on my bier? 

And tho' it suffereth much 1 pray love will be kind 
And the wrong forget and my faults overlook; 

That only the memory of the good in me live 

And my few virtues be listed in "Love's Own Book." 

So I pray as I go to my long, last sleep, 

Never again on Earth to awake 
While Time and Death their harvest will reap, 

That the Father, in mercy, my cleansed soul will take. 



28 



LOVE'S CHIMES 

RING out ye Bells! Ye Happy Bells! 
That tell the sweet old story, 
"While the lover's heart with rapture swells 
As he reaches his crowning glory. 

* * * * * 

But softer now the melody 

Falls on our listening ears, 
For time has past — Ah, well-a-day! 

With its joys and hopes and tears. 

Then as the merry bells peal out 

Their round of joy and pleasure, 
The gentler tones of sweet content 

Chime in with tender measure. 

The flowers may bloom and birds may sing 

Their very sweetest song, 
But there's naught so dear as the chimes which ring 

In our hearts as the days go on. 

For as the scale of Life the longer grows 

And the higher the anthem rises 
The lessons learned as true love knows 

Are our choicest, richest prizes. 
29 



Love 's Chimes 

Without discord in the gamut of Love 
We'll sound the chorus through, 

And as the chimes ring on may they ever prove 
Each note still sweet and true. 

Then let the Bells trill out again 

Their song of Love — a token, 
That we ne'er may miss their sweet refrain, 

Their harmony unbroken. 

And ring the octaves up and down 

In spite of wind and weather; 
We'll take what comes without a frown, 

While our hearts keep time together. 



30 



CONTRASTS 

[PB is a riddle to whomever it comes, 
*— ' We dance with the fiddles or march with the drums. 
We're up in the clouds or down in the valley, 
We go with the crowds or sneak down the alley. 

We laugh and we sing or we're down in the mouth, 
The weather is fair or the wind's in the South. 
There's money in bank or all of it's spent 
We're turning the crank or we go where we're sent. 

We're winning the race or getting the flag, 
We're reaching first place or holding the bag. 
We've corn to sell or the crib is bare, 
Our larders are full or we've nothing to spare. 

Wore forced by our friends high places to fill 

Or ambition ends at the foot of the hill. 

We're society's pet of the haughty four hundred 

Or we're out In the wet with the Hoi Polloi numbered. 

Is it Pomery Sec for which we're athirst? 
We may be lucky to get e'en the red-eye accurst. 
If we're feeling our oats, no good it may bode, 
We may go with the goats at the forks of the road. 

To-night we may fare in sumptuous beds 
The next may have nowhere to pillow our heads. 
We've plenty of money to throw at the birds, 
Or only the honey of bitterest words. 

31 



Contrasts 

We list to the round of marriage bells 

Or tremble at the sound of funeral knells. 

Honored today, outcast tomorrow, 

Now Life's only play, then nothing but sorrow. 

Sickness or trouble may any befall. 

Wealth's but a bubble, pleasure but gall. 

If we've happiness to lend or trouble to borrow, 

'Tis but for a day, we're gone tomorrow. 

"What's coming to me," is the query of each. 
"Success shall it be or is it out of my reach?" 
And as Fortune the minx, doesn't come at our call 
We in vain ask the Sphinx for she'll ne'er tell us all. 

And we'll not ask the sages the riddle to solve 
But let future ages the question revolve. 
Let each for the day do the best that he can, 
And if forfeit's to pay, plank it down like a man. 

Whether Life's worth the living or Death is the end; 
Whether taking or giving will happiness send, — 
In the worlds' busy strife we know there's naught missing 
In the flavor of Life where there's loving and kissing. 



32 



THE OPTIMIST'S DREAM 

I'VE a fortune at sea that's coming to me, 
* And poverty and want will hurriedly flee; 
There's a jackpot of gold for the true and the hold, 
And honor and rank to the full I will hold. 

In hope I'll abide for the turn of the tide, 
For in a coach and four I'm soon to ride; 
So a little longer I'm willing to walk, 
For naught, I am sure, ray future can balk. 

Then I'll spend all the hours in garlanded bowers, 
And smell the rich fragrance of tropical flowers; 
And I'll hear the birds sing as gaily they wing 
By the cot of the peasant through the realms of the king. 

Who says that he cannot believe that this planet 
Was made for the good of the people who man it, 
Is made of poor stuff, and I'm sure it is rough 
If he cannot resign when he's had quite enough. 

For since he began the animal man 
Has had a fair show and a winning race ran; 
And it seems very plain that he, in the main. 
Has very small reason to growl or complain. 

33 



The Optimist 's Dream 

There's do daring robber who'll ore cause s throb or 
Attempt io despoil of his bope this Aticawber; 

And until it is shown up thai the time's oomo to burn up, 
111 keep Watching and wait in;; for something to turn up. 

All the world's at his foot and man's reign is complete; 
With care loft behind, and Love! it is sweet! 
When all's well endured all ills are soon cured, 
And a future of joy to the faithful assured. 

What's trouble \o me who soon shall be free 
From the ills of this life, and the glories will see 
Of a far brighter world and more beautiful skies, 
Where Love is tbe rule and all win the prize. 



34 



LEAP YEAR KISSES 

I kissed lies, yes, I kiffed her, 
Without a:;king .'my grace; 
I), (I i;he think i;he w.uh rny litter 

Ah ibe act epted my embrace? 

For I hugged her, yeH, I hugged her, 

Ah I ne'er bugged any other. 
And I wondered U I did it 

if she took me for her brother. 

I klHsed her on each glowing cheek. 
Where the blushes come and go; 

I know f acted like a In at 

To treat the poor girl ho, 

But as 8he took rny kisses straight 
(At least a baker's dozen), 

I feared that in the gloaming late 
She supposed I was her cousin. 

I kissed her on her sweet blue eyes, 
And on her dimpled chin; 

I kissed her on her red, ripe lips, 
So conveniently between; 

And on her slender, graceful neck, 
Where the golden ringlets curl; 

I kissed her o'er and o'er again, 
My senses In a whirl. 
35 



Leap Year Kisses 

I kissed he! on her snowwhite brow, 

And on her tiny ear; 
'Twas sweetly sweet. Mini yet, 1 tTOW, 

it maiio me feel bo Queer, 

And then — she kissed me back again, 
Without making any bother; 

"Dear John." she Bald, "I think it's plain. 
We'd hotter go tell mother.'' 



36 



ONE KISS MORE 

WHKN setting Hun, as downward dips, 
Rinses fleecy clouds that hover o'er, 
They linger there, with blushing lips, 

To take their chance for one kiss more. 

Bo in the Hush of early love, 

When Cupid pierced my fond heart's core, 
Twaa my delight, all else above, 

To wait and take just one kiss more. 

And when the cruel clock said "Go" 
I conld not get beyond the door 

'Till I must turn, I loved you so 

And humbly sue for one kiss more. 

I often thought you cruel then 

To give so sparing from your store, 

And as I kissed, once and again, 

How oft I plead for one kiss more. 

if I were forced by cruel fate 

To go from thee to foreign shore, 

I'd lose my ship for thy dear sake 

And turn me back lor one kisn more. 



One Kiss More 

When in my arms I fondly fold 

And kiss you darling, o'er and o'er, 
I can't release you from my hold 

I'll ever want just one kiss more. 

And when along Life's troublous way, 
I feebly grope, heart-tried and sore 

Come to me then, Sweetheart, I pray 

And soothe me dear, with one kiss more. 

"When called to leave these scenes so fair 

And waiting stand at Death's dark door, 

Oh heed thee then my dying prayer 

And give me dearest, one kiss more. 

There's naught so sweet in all Love's race, 
There's naught so dear in all Love's lore, 

As the answer given in fond embrace, 

To Love's soft plea for one kiss more. 



3S 



A SPRING TIME BIRTHDAY 

PvEAR Heart! The years go swiftly by, 
U Their farewells softly sighing 
As at your feet they gently leave 
Their richest blessings lying. 

Tho' a silver thread, may here and there, 

Through the golden brown come gleaming, 

Yet the locks that shade thy face so fair, 
Will still keep young Love dreaming. 

The smile's as sweet now on thy lips 

As on that early morning 
When love first took its honey sip 

And happiness was dawning. 

Those sweet blue eyes, so full of glee, 
Yet cannot hide their loving, — 

Oh keep their love glints all for me 
And let them ne'er go roving. 

'Twas in the chill of early Spring 

In Earth's garden, you came straying; 

The robins sweetly 'gan to sing 
And all nature went a-Maying. 
39 



A Spring Time Birthday 

The Hyacinth peeped up its head 
To give its merry greeting; — 

So may Flora always fragrance shed 
As thy happy days are fleeting. 

Now all welcome gifts, this blessed morn, 
May love to thee come bringing, 

And all good fairies 'round thee stay 
To keep thy joy-bells ringing. 

And something I would bring to you, 
Yet would not be too daring, — 

Tis something old, yet always new 
And two can do the sharing. 

So from my lips this kiss receive 
That love with fervor blesses. 

No better gifts can I conceive 
Than kisses and caresses. 

For blest 'tis said, is he who gives 
As much as in receiving, — 

From all the joys that kisses bring 
I cannot help believing. 



40 



A LOVE LETTER IN RHYME 

A M I welcome or am I not? 
** Will this touch a tender spot? 
Is there a loving heart to reach 
With the written words of speech? 
Is there an answering, loving throb 
To meet a troubled bosom's sob? 
If I were there (forbidden bliss), 
Would you greet me with a kiss? 
Might I in my arms enfold 
And keep you in my ardent hold? 
And would you there contented rest 
Pressed so closely to my breast? 
Does gentle love still hold the reins 
O'er the thrill, which once coursed through your veins. 
In those early, happy days 
When first with me you tried Love's ways? 
Those blessed hourr,, though past and gone, 
Have brightly o'er my pathway shown 
And made life easier far to live 
And day by day some comfort give, 
But late I gather scarce a crumb, 
If Love is blind is he also dumb? 
Or if speech be lost, there's yet the pen 
To write and say what "might have been." 

41 



A Love Letter in Rhyme 

So hasten Dearest! Write me pray 
That still you love and quickly say 
That I soon may come and at your feet 
The sweet, old story again repeat, 
And from Love's eyes the bandage take 
And loose his tongue for Lang Syne's sake, 
That I may drink Life's sweetest draught 
And soothe the pain from Cupid's shaft. 
Distance soon may part us wide, 
Still I am yours both true and tried. 
Now if not yourself, let me take away 
The memory of Love's perfected day, 
And while tears from eyes are starting 
Flood me with kisses to ease the parting. 



42 



ABSENT BUT NOT FORGOTTEN 

\/OU asked me to write and I gladly obey; — 
■ You know I ne'er could deny you, 
For it's ever my pleasure, by night or by day, 
Whether I'm absent or whether I'm by you, 
To do all that you wish, be it wise, be it rash 
So that at your bidding I set off in a dash. 
For in a case like this, when it's nothing amiss, 
I'd be a great chump to decline such a bliss. 
I've only to plead that I'm in very great need 
Of a text for my letter as we are so well agreed. 

I had made up my mind since you were so kind, 
That in the city, at least, a note I would find, 
But you failed, my beauty, to do your whole duty, 
And I came from the post without any booty, — 
Consoled with the hope that here you had sent it 
But disappointed again, I doubt if you meant it, 
However, history repeats itself over and over, 
It has often been so with your sorrowing lover 
What we don't want we can have, it's ever the case, 
What we suffer and pray for is sure out of place. 
But kind fortune does favor me once in a while 
So I'll wait a bit longer and still try to smile; 
For your kind heart I know can't always be cruel 
So knowing your goodness I hope for a renewal. 

4a 



Absent But Not Forgotten 

But I tell you right now and I give you fair warning 

That I shall expect a letter on a quite early morning. 

And let it he long and please make it sweet; 

It never is wrong, love words to repeat. 
****** 

1 stop just here to acknowledge your letter 
And now that I have read it I feel very much better, 
Your dear loving words make me highly elated 
Rejoicing to know that your hue's not abated. 

The evening I left I didn't say all I meant. 
The time was so sweet 1 scarce knew how it went; 
And I'm regretting right now. as I've oft done before, 
That 1 didn't stay longer for a kiss or two more. 

That million's still short of the number required, 

And 1 want still another before finally retired. 

If I can't manage hero to make the second one even. 

We'll have something to do when we both get to Heaven. 

While away from you dear, time seems very long; 

Heaves but a dream and Life B sad song. 

We're a great way apart, it' we measure hy miles. 

Hut you're very near to my heart ami your sweet loving 

smiles 
Are so close to my lips. I might capture some sips, 
And I almost feel your touch at my lingers' tips — 
And I can almost Imagine the girl of my choice. 
Speaks to me through space with her sweet, low voice. 
You may call it telepathy or deem me hypnotic. 
I don't claim so much.- perhaps a little quixotic. 

•11 



Absent But Nol Forgotten 

I'm too poorly taught to be at all scientific, 
Bui am willing to be brought to a stato beatific. 
It mlghl be worth while to work willi X Kays, 

Turn them full on the loved ono to seo how her heart lays. 
I suppose though 'li.s best to do as we must, — 
Not scan them too closely but take them on trust. 

Now while hearts arc athlrst and souls have wings, 
The world's moving on and material tilings 
Must be attended to promptly and we see day by day, 
That while the sun shines we must keep on making hay. 
Statesmen must figure to keep matters straight, 
On questions of finance and affairs of state. 
Nations arc trembling and ships must be buil'ded 
That our Hag be upheld and its power be wielded. 
We will always be proud that our Slate's fair daughter 
By fate was allowed to send down to the water, 
The great vessel IOWA, swift, down on her ways 
To tloat on old ocean the full of her days. 
[ wish it had been our fortune together to stand 
As the great ship gracefully receded from land, 
And I think to myself how delicious 'twould be 
It we two together could sail o'er the sea. 
What happiness true to be launched on Life's tide 
To float there forever in love side by side. 
No fear of a storm our bosoms to thrill 
Only Love's gentle breezes our white sails to fill. 
Hut alas! if't should be that we take ocean trips, 
111 fortune may send us in separate ships 

45 



THE ROSE OR THE LILY 

A choice was given to me to-day 
'Tween flowerets sweet for me to say, 
Which I should take and hold for mine, 
To be for aye, my Valentine. 

Did I linger long 'twixt fear and doubt? 
No! I straightway solved the question out 
And stretched my eager hand and chose 
That sweetest, fairest flower, — the Rose. 



LOVE'S FIVE SENSES 

TO see my Love is Heaven itself to see; 
To hear her voice, — to hear the angels sing 
To clasp her form and feel her heart 
As it responsive throbs 'gainst mine, 
Is joy indeed and her warm fragrant breath 
An earnest of a taste of richest sweets; — 
All of Heaven's best gifts to Love 
Summed up in one long, thrilling Kiss. 



46 



L'ASSAMOIR 

BAD? Yes, I'm bad 
Every one says I am. 
Well! Whoever gives a damn 
Whether I'm bad or good 
Or if I go without food; 
If I'm barefoot or shod 
Or whatever's the odds, 
If I swim or I sink 
Or how much I drink. 
Well! I am what I am. 
Say! Barkeep a dram! 
Three fingers are enough, 
I'm well up to snuff, 
For by the Old Harry 
I know what I can carry. 

* * * * 

Well! That was red hot. 
What? The best you've got? 
Here! This is my last quarter 
And I think you'd oughter 
Shove it further 
And give me another. 
Let it be a snorter. 
No! Thanks! Not any water. 

* * * * 

There! That was out of sight. 
This is a blasted cold night, 
And my togs are pretty thin, 
Guess, I'll go out on the street 
If- 1- can- keep my- feet 
And let- the cops- run me in. 
47 



THE ROSE ON HER BREAST 

Twas but a white and tiny rose, 
Yet its story it readily told; 
And the love it stood for, as sweetheart knows, 
Was as true and pure as gold. 

Would she scorn the gift of the simple flower, 
And hold it and the heart of the giver 

As but the sport of an idle hour, 
To be then forgotten forever? 

No! She placed the rose upon her breast, 

With a tender, gentle touch, 
And it nestled there like a bird in its nest, 

And I longed for nothing so much 

As to be forever in that rose's place, 

So close to her bosom prest 
Where I could fondly look up in her face, 

In her smile supremely blest. 



48 



A MAIDEN'S FOOT 

JER foot should be slender with tapering toes, 
* 1 The instep high, with arch underneath, 
Delicate, and tinged with color of rose, 

On the pink little nails, and as white as her teeth. 

No corns on the toes, nor torturing bunion; 

None pushed to one side, with nails grown under; 
No need of corn plaster, nor suspicion of Munyon, 
No limping or falling or danger of blunder. 

Oh, only on roses should such a foot tread; 

But alack and alas! how grievous the smart, 
When for such a foot one loses his head 

While it dances over and crushes his heart. 



49 



DOWN ON HIS LUCK 

(A Wall from a Pessimist) 

When the cows come home 

Will they give down their milk? 
As our ship's sailing in, 

Will it burn up or sink? 

Where the Rainbow comes down, 

Will we find the gold? 
When the last leaf is turned, 

Will the tale be told? 

When the wheel goes round, 
Will it stop on the star? 

When the boat reaches port. 
Won't it stick on the bar? 

When the grass has been cut. 
Won't the rain spoil it all? 

When the feast has been spread, 
Will we hear the call? 

And when our all has been staked, 
(Let fate do its worst), 

Will it surprise us to hear 

That the bubble has burst? 

But one thing is certain — 

Be life dark or fair, 
When they ring down the curtain 

It's little we'll care. 

5 



TRIOLETS 

BIBLE LESSONS. 

MY Bible teaches me 
To turn the other cheek 
To whoso sraiteth me; 
My Bible teaches me 
That this the rule shall be; 

So if he kisses seek, 
My Bible teaches me 

To turn the other cheek. 

And, if he kisses me, 

Even seventy times seven, 
The good book doth agree 
That if he kisses me, 
That still the rule shall be, 

The sin must be forgiven, 
Even if he kisses me 

Seventy times seven. 

But, if another girl he kisses, 
That sin I can't forgive, 
I don't allow such blisses 
For the other girl he kisses, 
He should kiss no other misses, 

And as long as he may live, 
If another girl he kisses 

That sin I won't forgive. 



r.l 



THESE WOMEN ! 







woman is fickle 
And keeps man in a pickle, 
But whate'er could we do without her? 
Be she loving or cold 
She keeps a sure hold, 
There's something so charming about her. 

What is it I wonder? 

That keeps all men under 
The thumbs of these feminine gods? 

Is it their beauty or wit, 

Their nerve or their grit 
That they carry against us such odds? 

Their kisses and embraces 

Their sweet, pretty faces, 
And their loving hearts under their stays, 

Will hold every fool 

Who comes under their rule 
With their teasing yet winning ways. 

So let them do as they please, 

Either comfort or tease, — 
They may flout and scold and talk on 

But with all the pains, 

We still love our chains 
And worship the ground they walk on. 



52 



SONNET 
THE KISS 

The Kiss! The Kiss! Why is it that upon it 
No poet young or old has failed to write? 

Nor failed to claim its pleasures out of sight, 

Though so few have ever tried the Sonnet, 
Yet for the Kiss itself they never shun it, 
Whether they have, or have not, earned the right. 
And when they find a chance by day or night, 
They do not fail to take it when they've won it. 

The reason, now to me is very plain, 

Why for the Kiss, the Sonnet is neglected 

And other forms of verse are in the main, 

To tell its wondrous joys selected; — 

Too great for fourteen lines as knows any fool, 

Sonnets must but Kissing doesn't go by rule. 



WHY I LOVE HER 

OH I love my love 
My blue-eyed Belle. 
With her I'm in Heaven 

But away from her — well; 
I'll not name the place 

Of which I've heard tell, 
Where those lost to grace 
May go for a spell. 

For her sweetness I love her, 

Her beauty so rare. 
All charms seem to hover 

O'er my Darling so fair. 
Go search the world over, — 

Look here and look there, 
You'll ne'er one discover 

With her to compare. 

And she loves me, this dear one, 

For so she has said; — 
My Darling, so near one 

In God's mercy led. 
She whom I've in fear won, 

For whose love I've so plead, 
I'll love her, this dear one, 

Until I am dead. 



54 



SWEETHEART'S BIRTHDAY 

T have naught on your natal day to lay 
*■ But my heart at your feet, my sweet, 
And there it will humbly stay alway. 
Its love In each beat to repeat. 

Always to stay for better or worse, 

Its story of love in verse to rehearse, 
For tho' not a machine, a mere marker of time 

It beats steady and true with the measure of rhyme. 

I would deck you my darling with gems fair and rare 
And strew on your pathway showers of flowers. 

I'd give joy to your life and every care share 

And we'd spend in Loves' bowers, our hours. 

I'd have all your March a perfect May-day 

And all your dear life one joyous hey-day; 

Your eyes always bright and your smile ever sweet; 

'Tis the prayer of the heart that lies at your feet. 



55 



EASTER MORN 

/ ~\ll wlml iIooh Kantor moan to in<> 
^-' WllOttO hopoH aro Ivillf. low. 
Whon alio wlioa all (lu> world («> mo 
No lovo to DM will aliow > 

No How ova Of Spring for mo will poop 
From muioi uo.itii tho snow 

Ami 1( v Winter still will koop 

O'tl niv Imart. ttl OTUlt Of WOO 

Btt( Lf OM ton. lor, IKtlo lino 

From my dour lo\o BhOUld OOBM 

TO toll mo that alio :;(lll In mino. 
No moro from mo (o roam, 

oil thta would ;iii tho Bkloi bo bi Ifbt 

\ml Joj lUPTO&lO WOUld I'oi.-.n. 

D&rkuon Quloklj turn io Light , 

Tho tlowois would tilomn a>;aln. 



s« 



THE outcast 
I >i BOTTBD, degraded, the roadildt bii bad; 

*—' l''illh iiihIi-i iii'.il li mill iiloini OV01 lii'iul . 

P< • ii ii i it ■. : , 1 1 [endleii, hungry and cold . 

: lullOO ; i ml \ l< lloUl, Ugly '""I Old 

Doomed by heredity, scourged by Society; 

ii wiih frigidity, i reated wiiii loors , 
Uorn oi Iniquity, steeped In dupllclf . 

Wherefore and what for, w.-m ever i 1 " born 7 

Starved In hli babyhood, beaten i" boyhood) 
Taught i<> beg, to iteal and to lie; 
in;-, naught iiiiii li good, with no spark <>r manhood, 

TOO iiiliii'iiilili' to llvn mill loo )-.*>' 1 1 ■!'■'■ I'> <Mo. 

Churchei win aone of him every one ihuni him, 
What'i i" become of him? In God'i decree 

Who'll be held blamelen for the outcast and nameless 
1 11 t in- Great 1 lay 1 hi 1 li i<> be? 



.. 



THE FLAG OF THE FREE 

A \Aj hail (d (ho Flag which shelters us all, 
*»• That so proudly floats in the breeze; 
Which protects us alike in cabin or hall, 
Of whether on land or the seas. 

We've won the respect of the rest of the world 

For the dear old Flag that we love 

And we solemnly pledge it shall never be furled 

And we'll hold it all others above. 
Then here's to the Flag that floats o'er the free, 
We'll uphold it ever on land or on sea. 

From whatever clime our brothers have come 
To cast in (heir lot with us here, 
We'll welcome them all to Freedom's home 
-V ml hail (hem with hearty good cheer, 

Then keep a warm heart for the land of your birth 

And Often your thoughts to it give. 

Bu1 of all of the countries on top of the earth, 

Let us bless the Hear land where we live. 
Then hero's to the Flag that floats o'er the free; 
We'll love it and honor it wherever we be. 



58 



The Flag of the Free 

Here home and Its joys and its comforts we find, 
Here's health and happiness true, 
Here's plenty of food for body and mind 
With love for old friends and new. 

Here's "Charity for all and malice toward none. 

Equal rights and good fellowship too; 

Here Freedom for all forever's been won, 

Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue. 
Then here's to the Flag that floats o'er the free, 
The Flag that guards home and Liberty. 

Then fling out the Banner and under its fold 
Let each patriot answer the call 
And ever stand fast for the good of the whole 
For the protection and help of us all, 

For Honor, for Right, forever 'twill stand 

And our safeguard and pledge it will be; 

Full work and full pay for all in the land 

Our motto henceforth shall be. 
Then here's to the Flag that floats o'er the Free 
The emblem of Honor and Prosperity. 



59 



THE WILD ROSE 

(By Albert Blgelow Payne In Truth.) 

/^\NCE two lovers quarreled; 
^-^ Lovers do you know, 
Wounding words they uttered 

In the sunset glow. 
But they kissed forgiveness 

In the early mom, 
And a wild Rose blossomed 

On a stent of thorn. 

RECONCILIATION 
(Answer by Effem) 

Do true lovers ever quarrel? 

If 'tis really so 
List to the sages' moral 

For the reason why, they do. 

A lover true would fain be pricked 
On the very sharpest thorn 

Than of the pleasure to be tricked 

Of kissing and making up next morn. 



GO 



NOMKliODY LOVES ME 

QOMEBODY wrote inc B dear little letter; 
*-J 'Twas sweetly perfumed and delicately written 
Were I he charming words and no one knew better 
Than be Who received it, how hadly he was smitten. 

Somebody sang mo a sweet little souk 
Ami her lovely eyes with tears were filled, 
And the tender tones of her voice made mo long 
To know, if by me, her heart was thrilled. 

Somebody gave me a sweet little kiss 

Ami laid her head on my shoulder, with a quick littlo sob 

And 1 felt at last, I knew something of bliss 

And that the bearta In our bosoms bad reason to throb. 

Somebody loves me! I guessed it was so 
From the song which she sang and the letter sho wrote me 
But it was sweetly and prettily given me to know, 
When that sweet little kiss she so bashfully gave me. 



61 



HER EASTER BONNET 

TF I could see her pretty face 
* Inside her new spring bonnet 
I feel I might be given the grace 
To write an Easter sonnet. 

For when that hat came from the shop 

Good judges will decide it 
The brightest flowers, paled, on the top 

By the face to go inside it. 

With all the care and taste displayed 

Within it and upon it, — 
With Flora's choicest gifts arrayed 

When the time has come to don it, — 

No flower or bird nor ribbon gay 

Nor ornament upon it 
Could draw my eager gaze away 

From the face inside the bonnet. 

If I might tie the pretty strings 
Unneath that dimpled chin 

And meantime print a loving kiss 
On the lovely face within 

I'd feel that Heaven was mine at last 
And that through her I'd won it 

And with my arms around her clasped 
My heart would sing the sonnet. 



62 



THANKSGIVING DAY "GRACE BEFORE MEAT" 

THANKS, Good Father, Thanks! 
Thanks for health and thanks for life; 
Thanks for children, thanks for wife; 
Thanks for food and thanks for clothes; 
Thanks for the sunshine and thanks for the rose; 
Thanks for our country and thanks for our home, 
For blessings past and blessings to come. 
Thanks for good friends and the rest of the people; 
Thanks for the church with, or without the steeple; 
Thanks for the truth which the preachers tell, 
That enables poor sinners to keep out of hell; 
Though alack and alas! These self same teachers 
May fall in themselves, the poor, weak creatures; 
But we must do as they tell us, not as some of them do; 
And ever be zealous, the straight path to pursue; 
And thankful should be that to us it is given 
To be happy if we will, on this side of Heaven, 
Thankful, too, for the poor whom we always have with us, 
To whose wants, pray the Lord, we may ne'er be oblivious! 
Finally, thankful let us be though the skies may be murky, 
That we're able to tackle our Thankgiving turkey. 

So mote it be. 



63 



ON THE HALF SHELL 

(Lines written on dissevered shells found far ap;irt at the Sea 

Shore) 

/"^vNCE we were one 

^-^ But now we're a pair, 

Our life so soon done 

It hardly scorns fair; 

Bu1 we were thrown on the sands, 

By the ruthless tide 
And the life that was between us 

Has shriveled and died. 

Now though broken apart, 

Yet together we're strung, 

By the lines from the heart 

Which the poet has sung. 

"Loud roars the wind 

And the waves dash high, 

My lover is on the sea. 
Turn where 1 will no hope I find, 
With all my soul I pray and cry: 

'Will ever iny true love come hack to 
me?' " 

And now ibis plaint we bring 
From the shores of the Sea 

"Will ever my Truo Love 
Come back to me?" 

G4 



THE DAUGHTER TO THE MOT 1 1 MR 

(The Monroe Dootrine: A.nenl William Watson's appeal to the 

i nlted States for pence in the Venezuelan iminopiin in 

L896, entitled "The Mother to the Daughter.") 

/~\ grasping mother, self-styled Mistress of the Seas; 

^-^ Why cans't thou not enjoy thy ill-got gains in ease 

Instead of crowding weaker nations to the wall, 

(Which perchance may lead some day to thy own fall). 

Thou greedy land-shark with wide open jaw, 

Ready to take into thy insatiate maw 

Any poor weakling who by ill-fortune may 

Unluckily chance to come across thy way; — 

Thou who hast on others' needs grown strong 

And gathered riches with little care to whom they might 

belong, 
Now asks of us to look the other way 
And into thy cruel hand the weak betray; — 
But know proud matron with blood-stained crown, 
No power on earth can pull our starry banner down. 
We use no threatening words but united ever stand 
Ready to protect our own and our weak sister's land. 
Our mission is to feed the world, care for our own, 
See fair play to our neighbors shown; 

Uphold our flag and if need be, meet the "Dogs of War" 
Unleashed 'gainst them or us from any foreign shore. 
So will we stand for peace and in God's name 
"Befriend the suecorless and put the false to shame." 



«;;, 



LOVE'S R.KTKOSI'ECT 

p\0 you remember) Darling mine, 
*-^ That night bo long agone, 
When we two walked alone 

Down by the river side, 
Where the swift rushing tide 
Flowed on to Ocean wide, 

Whore I told you that my love 

Would ever onward move 

And that I would surely prove 

To you and nil tho world, 

That as waves were tossed ami whirled, 

So my love was fiercely hurled 

Id your heart; that the dainty essonce 
Of your soul and mind and presence, 
Would only give quiescence 

To the fury of my longing 

And that you'd ever more be wronging 

All the memories which were thronging 

O'er my mind and heart and soul, 
If you gnve not o'er the whole 
Of yourself, Love's full control? 
t'.6 



Love's Retrospect 

Then you confessed, my darling maid, 
That on me your heart, was stayed 
And of I lie future were not afraid. 

And your sweet low voice so trembled, 
That I knew you naught dissembled, 
For nothing in you resembled 

The treacherous, heartless women 

Who lead men on like demon, 

Till they're lost to all that's human, 

And I felt that now your heart was given, 
From me 'twould ne'er be riven, 
Until you went from me to Heaven. 

Then the fierce and hurried beating 

Of my tried heart, left me like the fleeting 

Waters of the river and the greeting 

Of the stars, that came from behind the cloud, 
Like the ghosts who had taken off the shroud, 
And with the happy angels were allowed 

To wander in Paradise unbidden 

With all the glories of earth and Heaven unhidden, 

And choose the joys of each unchidden, — 

Twinkled with me in rapturous delight 
And made the aforetime dark and hideous night, 
Luminous and soft and Luna's silvery light 
67 



Love's Retrospect 

Beamed down upon us and gave the feeling, 

That Heaven was to us revealing 

The answer to my fervent heart's appealing. 

Ah! Thou dost remember Dearest! 

Long years have past and still thou'rt nearest, 

And with me naught in the future fearest. 



68 



TO E. ON HER BIRTHDAY 

p\EAR Girl can it be that you're now Twenty-Four, 

*~* And that I have scored up to Fifty and more? 

It doesn't seem possible that it can be so 

But the Good Book so says and it ought to know, 

And this fete-day of yours should be celebrated 

By all near or far to whom you're related, 

And by none more devoutly than by your venerable Dad, 

Who knows all the good in you and all of the bad; 

To whom a joy you have been as well as a puzzle 

Whom no one could solve and nothing could muzzle, 

And though the delight of your life is to tease, 

There's no one knows better than you how to please. 

Birthdays suggest gifts for all the world over 
Custom makes them the due from friends and from lover, 
And from Pater of course something's always expected 
And long in advance, should a souvenir have selected. 

Now I have no doubt but you feel quite assured 

That some work of art I've already secured — 

But after all my research, it's nothing more, nothing less — 

But — until you read this, I'll leave you to guess. 

My wish was to send you a rare diamond necklace 
But — my book in the red, it might be thought reckless, 
So the state of my exchequer that gift will preclude 
(To this condition of affairs I trust none will allude). 

69 



To E. On Her Birthday 

What would be more fitting than a "carriage and pair" 
I'm sure little girl 'twould be no more than fair, — 
I might find the horses, but just now they're so cheap 
Some can them and eat them like cattle or sheep. 

So horses rejected, how would you like 
Tbeir recent successor, the festive Bike? 
But bikes built for two are scarce to be had 
And you won't go biking without taking your lad, 
And besides with the wheel you have to wear bloomers 
And I'm under the impression that I have heard rumors, 
That with them or knickerbockers, you might have to pad, 
So 1 think there's no danger of your following that fad. 

Now a mansion I'd give without any stress 
But love in a cottage you already possess; — 
Then there's choice bric-a-brac and furniture antique, 
With vases Japanesque and bronzes unique, 
Laces and furs and rich Paris suits, 
Pictures and books, confections and fruits, — 
But all these are in reserve until sails in my ship, 
If Fortune the jade doesn't give me the slip. 
Meanwhile my dear girl, for lack of something much better, 
I send by first post this poor hurried letter. 
If it should prove overweight you'll know in a minute 
'Tis because of the love and good wishes within it. 
And the love I now send to add to your store 
Doesn't deplete my stock for I've still plenty more. 
With this best of all gifts, hearts are happy and light 
And in homes howe'er humble all is joyous and bright. 

70 



To E. On Her Birthday 

"O 'tis Love rules the court, the camp and the grove. 
For Love it is Heaven and Heaven it is Love." 

And now as old Time year hy year makes a score, 
May you always be happy as at young Twenty-four. 
If I can stay with you you'll hear from me later 
I'm slow but I'm sure. Your Loving Old Pater. 
P. S. — 

In lieu of the gifts which hard times make you miss, 
Here's a loving, paternal, long, lingering kiss. 



71 



AN EASTER BIRTHDAY 

A LL hail we now this happy fete day, sent 
**• To mark the close of dull and somber Lent, 
And usher in the lovely Easter time, 
When flowers spring and lovers turn to rhyme; 
When Life and Hope break winter's icy chains 
And Hearts are trumps all over Love's domains; 
And now, while all rejoice and birdlets sing, 
To you, the Queen of Hearts, we homage bring. 
To you, whose natal day we celebrate, 
Whose smiles we crave and at whose beck we wait; 
To you, this bright, auspicious, springtime day, 
We come, our offerings at your feet to lay 
And pray good health and fortune may attend 
From this time forth till your dear life shall end; 
That all good things that Nature's kindly stored 
May lavishly into your lap be poured; 
That pleasure may crowd pleasure thick and fast, 
Your days filled full with sweetened joys that last; 
And all whose lives you've blest will pray 
That for you there may be eternal day; 
For care and time can surely leave no mark 
Upon a soul that's never in the dark. 
For as faint footprints in late winter's snow 
Are quick effaced by noonday's sun's bright glow 
So the rich warmth of your true heart sublime 
Will melt away all trace of care or time; 
And as you've drank at Youth's eternal fount 
Your annual milestones surely do not count 
Only as angel's visits far between 
Saint's days for us to keep their memory green. 



THE BEST OF LIFE 
To T. D. B. 

*"T^HE best of life went long ago," 

The poet says. Old friend, not so; 
For everything we've had of worth 
Is with us yet. The glowing earth 
Has present joys, while of the past 
All that was good will ever last. 

For memory lives and nothing's lost; 
We've had our day and paid the cost 
And it is ours to realize 
That we still hold the things we prize, 
Though they have passed beyond our ken, 
There's nothing lost that's ever been. 

The early days we may recall, 

And live them over, one and all; 

And the dear ones of the long-gone days, 

Their charms and all their dear, sweet ways, 

Come back to us, and once again, 

We hear and sing Life's glad refrain. 

"Three Score and Ten," by Richard 
Henry Stoddard. 



73 



LOVE'S LACONICS 

1 asked her would she walk with me, 
But she wouldn't. 
I begged her then to talk to me; 

Said she shouldn't. 
"Dear maid, can't you smile on me?' 

"No! she couldn't." 
"Come! Go a pleasant mile with me. 
"It wasn't prudent." 

"Then, lassie, may I stay by you?" 

"You'd better not." 
"I've something sweet to say to you.' 

"Say it not." 
"Jewels rare I'll give to you." 

"Keep that you've got." 
"I have wealth enough for two." 

"That is naught." 

"But I have a loving heart." 

"That's something new." 
"It is wounded by Love's dart." 

"Sad, if true." 
"Will you not try to cure the smart?" 

"I fear I'll rue." 
"But come to me, we'll never part." 

"I'll — come — to you." 



74 



ANOTHER BIRTHDAY 

QIX and Twenty, young a plenty! 
**-* Only a baby yet 

Yet old enough and sweet enough 
To be somebody's pet. 

But Time is fleet, his winged feet 

Trip quickly o'er the years 

And as he goes, his pathway strews 

With laughter and with tears. 

Now Life be cheery for my Dearie, 
May she merry be! 

Well and happy, never scrappy, 

From all harassments free. 

Trouble miss her, content kiss her, 
Drive dull care away, 

Children bless her, love caress her, 

Good health come and stay. 

Joy attend her. Heaven send her 

Every perfect gift 
From her life, free from strife 

Every burden lift. 

If aught try her, Lord stay by her! 

Keep her good and sweet 
Thus always keep her, till the Reaper 

Brings her to thy feet. 

May every year bring her good cheer, 
And as the days go on 

Like bird on wing may she gaily sing 
Ever a happy song. 



FLITTING JOYS 

' A S a ray of sunshine, thy presence has been 
** In this village home of ours; 
Or as a sheet of lightning in the midnight storm 
To light up the dark dreary hours; 

A zephyr that wafts on its balmy wings 
A presage of joy that blissful proves 
Or a Carrie (r) dove which swiftly brings 
To the trusting one her message of Love. 

But too soon like the ray, sheet, Zephyr and dove 
You take a gun cotton flight, 

But in our hearts you're ever enshrined in love, 
Your image is pictured in fancy How (e) bright. 

Wonderest thou that we to thy memory will cling 
And bless the bright hours thou wert here, 
That a lingering regret at thy absence will bring 
The fond tho' vain wish that thou ever wert near? 

Wouldst know why so hard 'tis to speak the farewell? 
But look in our hearts the secret is there, — 
There, where sweet memories of you'll ever dwell 
And whence ascends for thy happiness the fervent prayer. 

We part but as you Gaily pass down the swift stream 

of life 

Will your thoughts not infrequently turn to the plank 

Where wishing you joys unMixed with trouble in life 

Floats the phantom friend Eliza of your devotee. 

— Frank. 

(First attempt to woo Poesy or the fair sex at 17 years of age. 
kii.-n-k •:■<•<■ refer to practical jokes) 

76 



A MARCH BIRTHDAY 

71/TARCH the blustry, is much abused; 
No doubt he feels himself ill-used. 
He is a quarrelsome, crusty fellow, 
But on occasion he docs get mellow. 

'Twas on his sunniest, balmiest day, 

That you strayed from Heaven a little way. 

But the frost closed in upon your track 

And here you remained for you couldn't get back. 

And now since below with us you have stayed 
And a little Heaven upon Earth have made, 
We feel that we should blame him for naught 
But bless the old month for what he has brought. 



77 



NOT INCONSTANT 

\/OU do not think me inconstant? 
* Will not you believe me true? 
Does it enter your mind for a moment 
I could go to another from you? 

Who could ever be nearer? 

Who so sweet and so fair? 
Who could I ever love dearer 

Or for whom so tenderly care? 

Whose smile so sweet as your own? 

Whose eyes so loving and kind? 
On whose lips have I reaped as I've sown? 

Where else could I happiness find? 

So Sweetheart! My love do not doubt, 

While you hold such superior charms, 

I'll put all such ideas to rout 

When next I hold you in my arms. 



78 



LIFE'S DRAMA 

WE dream our dreams along the way; 
We toil and moil from day to day; 
We bear our pains; we meet in strife; 
We cull some joys — and such is Life. 

Youth's golden morn, it's springtime flowers- 
The fond heart's hopeful, happy hours; 
Fair Summer's fruits, rich harvest sheaves, 
Then Winter's snow o'er Autumn leaves. 

Small heed we take of passing years, 
That promise joys and pay in tears, 
While hand in hand till latest breath, 
We humbly wait for peace in death. 

So pass we o'er Life's fitful stage, 
The while the prompter turns the page, 
We play our parts, — how brief our stay — 
The curtain falls, so ends the play. 



79 



HYMN 

DO trials come my soul to vex? 
Does trouble cross my path? 
Do I not find it little recks 
To struggle 'gainst His wrath? 

Tho' 'tis His hand that wields the rod 
Or suffers the blow to fall 
Tis He who heals each broken heart, 
His love is over all. 

So rest my soul in perfect calm 
Secure in every storm. 
For every wound He brings a balm, 
He shields from every harm. 



80 



THE MESSAGE OP THE BIRDS 

(A Second Generation Lyric by Webb M. Oungst.) 

A tiny blossom ope'd its eyes 

Upon the world one day — 
It gazed about in sweet surprise 
At trees and fields and sunlit skies, 
And then it passed away — it passed away. 

'Twas when the sunlight from above 

Had turned to twilight gray, 
There came the gentle mourning dove 
And told me that the flower was Love — 
The flower had passed away — had passed away. 

But when the dreary night was o'er, 

A little twittering wren 
With songs of love was bubbling o'er 
To me this tender message bore: 
That flower will bloom again — will bloom again! 



81 



WITH A BIRTHDAY SOUVENIR OF BOUILLON 
SPOONS 

IF I might be the spoon from which bouillon you would sip, 
- What happiness 'twould be to me, to hang upon your lip. 
'Twould equal the enjoyment of "looping of the loop," 
'Twould be a joy forever to be "always in the soup." 



THE COMPOSITE VALENTINE 

OH who will be my Valentine? 
To Miriam doth my heart incline; 
My soul goes out to Diane divine; 
Would I could call dear Helen mine; 
But in thee doth all their charms combine, 
Be thou, dear Nell my Valentine. 



THE ROSE AND THE THORN 

1am squire in waiting to the Queenly Rose, 
And I guard my lady from the world's rude touch, 
I keep close to her side wherever she goes 
And I thrust my lance, if it crowd too much. 



82 



A TRULY TRUE LOVE STORY 

(A Prose Poem) 
Q HE was a widow, fifty-five, with several grown up sons 
^ and daughters. She was charming, cheery, handsome 
and buxom and didn't look her age by twenty-five years — 
had a bit of money and a nice home and hosts of friends. 

He was twenty-eight, good looking, portly, affable, a gen- 
tleman, with an assured good income, and a well estab- 
lished position. 

The widow had been married very young to a prominent 
physician who was also something of a politician, rather 
literary and a good speaker. They lived happily until he 
went into the army as a surgeon, at the breaking out of the 
war, and came back broken in health and constitution and 
died after two or three years of invalidism, during which 
she gave him loving and constant attention. 

Some three years after his death, her children having 
all married off and scattered she sold her home and went to 
boarding. At the boarding house they met. He thought he 
was an incorrigible bachelor, but he wasn't. Her gentle, 
winning, vivacious ways charmed his heart out of him and 
propinquity and his attentions and gentlemanly considera- 
tion and courteous deference caught her fancy. The idea of 
marrying a man only half her age shocked her, but little 
Dan Cupid had gotten in his deadly work. 

I was an old family friend and she laid the case before me. 

"What do your children say?" 

83 



A Truly True Love Story 

"Oh, they will be furious." 

"Are you not afraid to marry a man so much younger 
than yourself?" 

"Well, a little, but Oh, I love him and I know he loves 
me. You know I have had a hard life the last few years. 
The doctor was the best man in the world but his long sick- 
ness changed him into a petulant tyrant. I do so want 
somebody to love and pet me. He knows I am ever so 
much older than he is in years, but he won't hear a word." 

"But your property?" 

"He doesn't want it; won't have it. Just wants me. The 
children can have it all. We will have enough without it." 

"Well," I said, "If you both feel that way about it, I 
don't see why you shouldn't go ahead. You will keep young 
longer in proportion than he and if he is as good as you 
think he is, I don't see why it shouldn't turn out well; 
but you will be old and feeble long before he is; how about 
it then?" 

"I'm never going to get old and I believe I can hold him." 

And hold him she did. They were married to the sur- 
prise of all their friends, and went to St. Louis, where he 
was state agent for a prominent life insurance company. 
He gave her a fine home and surrounded her with every 
comfort. After a few years they moved to another city 
where he held the same position and where they accumu- 
lated property and secured many friends. I met them from 
time to time and the same happy condition of affairs con- 
tinued. She retained her youthfulness by virtue of her 
happiness and the use of arts that ladies understand so well 

84 



A Truly True Love Story 

how to cover up the marks of time, while he put ou sage 
manners and not to shame her managed to not appear 
younger than she. They were constantly together and he 
was as proud of her as she was of him. Their home was 
an ideally happy one. If he was away from her he wrote 
or telegraphed every day. He bought her a parrot and 
taught it to accost her every time she came into the room 
where it was by calling out to her: "Howdy do, pretty girl," 
as he did when he was there, and she was pretty even down 
to the last day of her life. 

She finally began to show age but he was the same at- 
tentive, happy lover as at first. It was a matter of re- 
mark that they were the most devoted, happy, loving couple 
in all the circle of their friends. 

A few weeks ago I met the husband in his own city. I 
knew he had lost her and I asked him about her illness. He 
told me that she died five years ago, having been ill the 
last year or two of her life. He talked of her with tears 
in his eyes and voice. Told of her loving companionship — 
charming to the last — a most remarkable woman. Said he: 
'"I never spent an evening away from her except when I 
was away from the city on business." 

Her children were at first much opposed to him, but 
later became much attached to him when they found him 
so devoted to her and so willing to befriend them. They 
early received not only all the property she possessed at the 
time of their marriage, but were the recipients of great help 
and many favors from him, not only her children but the 
grand children. Only a month before I met him, her young- 

85 



A Truly True Love Story 

est son, a wayward fellow, was reported to him to be ill 
and in need in a southern city, and he at once forwarded 
him a substantial sum as he had done before and arranged 
that he should be taken care of. 

Then I asked him if he had not married again, and he 
replied with a happy smile that he had, after three years 
of miserable lonesomeness, married a young girl whom 
they had both known all her life, and said he: 

"We have a sweet little girl baby eight months old, and 
I want you who knew my first dear wife so well to see my 
little girl and her mother." 

He was evidently happy in his last venture as he had 
been in his first, and I felt that he deserved his happiness. 
The man was as loveable as his wives and I was sure that 
the young wife was as happy and well cared for as had been 
the one he had cherished so long. He was adapting him- 
self to life with the young woman as he had to the one 
older than himself, so that in neither case did the alliance 
seem out of place; he was always so neat in appearance, so 
attentive and courteous, so happy in disposition and man- 
ner that the situation never seemed strained. 

His was a most peculiar case. At twenty-eight he mar- 
ried a woman twice his age; at sixty he married a girl just 
out of her teens. Extremes met twice in his life — the one 
a reverse of the other, in conditions, but alike in results. 

There is no age in love and the heart is the one portion 
of the human anatomy that never grows old. 

This is, as I remarked at the beginning, a Truly, True 
Love Story. 

86 



THE STORY OF SIX LITTLE LEAVES 

(A Third Generation Prose Poem, by Marjorie True Love.) 

A TINY tree which grow away down in a hollow was just 
blossoming out into leaves for the tirst time. This tree was 
so very small that it could have only six leaves on it comfort- 
ably at a time, and as this year was the first time it had any 
leaves at all. six. was the exact number. 

All spring they grew and grew, every morning lifting their 
heads to the bright sunshine, and every evening sipping the 
dew, till by June they were quite large for new Leaves, and a 
lovely bright green. 

There were many other trees in this same hollow but just 
one little Maple tree and our story is about that one. All 
summer these six little leaves on this little Maple tree were 
happy. They thought this was a very beautiful world they 
grew in. and they didn't like to believe the stories that the 
large Oak trees whispered above them about how, in the fall 
they would wither and die, and even worse than that, fall off 
the little Maple tree onto the ground and when winter came, 
In' covered up with snow and then forgotten forever. 

They did not and would not believe this tale, and went on 
being very hapny until Fall really did come and they found 
that their bright green dresses were slowly turning to soft 
pink and red and then bright yellow. 

All the other trees in the hollow also turned many bright 
colors but not one of those wonderful big trees could outshine 
the six little leaves on the little Maple tree. 

Their dresses were the brightest and most dazzling of all, 
and the little leaves were as happy as could be, for they felt 
sure that kind Mother Nature would not replace their green 
dresses for these pretty new ones, if they were soon going 
to die. 

860 



Even when they saw the Oak trees become bare, they would 
not believe that they, too, would leave the little tree, but one 
day when Mr. Wind came by, lie whirled around the little 
Maple tree and said. "I nearly forgot you," and with that he 
blew six times, just as hard as he could, and the six little 
leaves went sailing up into the air, oh! ever so high, and 
then floated down softly at the foot of the little Maple tree. 

They were very unhappy for :i few days and they were 
cold, but soon the snow came and they were all covered over 
with a soft white blanket. Had we been there, we should 
have heard six little sighs of content as the six little Maple 
leaves snuggled down in their warm bed for a long winter's nap. 



86& 



THE LATTER DAY UTOPIA 

r "pHERE*S a place I am told where the streets are of gold 

1 Where it never is hot and never gets cold; 
Where under the trees we can rest at our ease 
And never do aught except as we please; 

Where the tables are spread with the richest of feed; 
Where we've nothing to dread and can have all we need; 
Where we can all have our say and nothing to pay 
And can sleep all night and loaf all day; 

Where no creditors come, where's plenty of room, 
Where we may laugh and grow fat till the crack of doom; 
Where there's music and fun for each son-of-a-gun 
And everything desirable that's under the sun, 

And where we won't care for the silver that's there 
Because it's so plenty it gets in your hair 
And we're not even asked to "keep off the grass" 
But are invited to drink whenever we pass. 

Oh! Show me offhand this wonderful land 
And soon on its shores I'll take my stand. 
I'll bid farewell to this miserable "sell" 
And register at Utopia's best hotel. 

For it's very clear there is nothing here 
That a fellow like me can hold very dear, 
For it's work all day with very poor pay 
And if a bloke goes wrong there's the devil to pay. 
87 



The Latter Day Utopia 

One getting hard knocks he will join Fry or Coxey 
But for that sort of thing I'm a little too foxy, 
I've no notion to tramp around in the damp 
Or to march on to Washington with nary a stamp. 

So for Utopia I'm bound on a merry-go-round 
And inside its borders I'll soon be found. 
If you'll show me the way I'll start there to-day 
Aud if it's like what I've heard I'll stay there alway. 



Now I pardon implore of Sir Tliomas More 
Who exploited Utopia 'bout Fifteen Twenty Four, — 
Followed later by Bellamy who if he ever hears tell of me 
For these further particulars will surely think well of me. 



S8 



IN LIGHTER VEIN 



THE MUCH-MARRYING MAN 

"V/OU'VE all of you heard of the much-married man, 
* And the ocean of ills that crowd into his van, 
But I sing of the one who causes the woe — 
'Tis the much-marrying man who these worries bestow. 

The one of all others who causes the trouble 
By taking two singles and making them double; 
He, before whom they stand up, all spick and span, 
Cupid's Lord High Executioner, the much-marrying man. 

Two units of quite respectable mien, 
Youthful or aged as the case may have been, 
Fondly believing they've found their divinity, 
When often it proves but a diabolical affinity — 

With haste will repair to the redoubtable parson, 
Who quickly responds as if it were arson, 
And he was the hose cart to put out the fire, 
In prompt response to their ardent desire. 

Tho' they may be anxious, yet we learn from Shakespeare, 
That in going to him there's naught to make fear, 
For the lion so dreaded by Pyramus and Thisbe, 
Was but Snug the joiner, otherwise Parson Frisbie. 

So of our parson as a much-marrying man I sing, 
For of all of the cloth who have handled the ring, 
In tying the victim to the prettiest and sweetest, 
He does the job up in a manner the neatest. 

89 



The Much-Marrying Man 

He splices them gracefully, so deftly and quick; 
"My blessing, dear children, I assure you 'twill stick, 
This chain will last always, for you know of course, 
When I do the trick, there's no chance for divorce.' 

Just look o'er his list; 'twill surprise you to see 
What a good looking lot and how many there be, 
They're of all sorts and sizes, all ages and colors, 
And the more there are of them, the more are the dollars; 

For always the shepherd is worthy his hire, 

And of the captains of industry, no one comes nigher 

Earning his pay, than does our dear pastor, 

And no ether's patrons get returns any faster. 

And he always is ready, with all of his might, 

To set the wheels going and start them off right, 

In establishing the family, he never has paused, 

Just think of the happiness in his time he has caused. 

So long may he continue in thus doing good, 
And go right along and keep on sawing wood 
To make bright the fires on Lord Cupid's altar, 
And then promptly adjusting the hymeneal halter; 

And as he's married us, our sons and our daughters, 
And thus happily cast his bread on the waters, 
'Twill return to him sure, well sugared and buttered, 
With the sincerest thanks that ever were uttered. 



90 



THE QUEEN OF CLUBS 

(By a Horrid Man) 
|F any you women, don't favor votin, 
* Just go and listen to Mrs. Henrotin. 
She's sound all over, mind, liver and lung, 
And she'll convert you sure with her silver tongue. 

And she'll not only show you how to get all your rights, 
Hut warn you 'gainst hankerin' after wearin' the tights, 
And you'll find notwithstanding contrary rumors, 
She don't wear 'em herself or countenance bloomers. 

She favors the fashions and pays well for her clothes, 
So the women who make them can have shoes for their toes. 
She don't think it wicked her money to spend, 
Hut lets it go freely for every good end. 

She's never for war but always for peace, 

In which she's quite unlike Sister Lease. 

She's for all that is good, as is well understood, 

And speaks up for her country and true womanhood. 

Now if you other women who join all the clubs 
And have never a moment for children or "hubs," 
Will listen to her and follow her cue, 
You'll learn after while to give the devil his due. 

Ami while you're forging ahead to capture the polls 
Just reach back a kind hand to us poor souls, 
Who have nothing to do but hand out the "chink," 
And while you take to clubs may be taking to drink. 

But all honor to her who honors her sex, 

Without always stringing us up by our necks; 

She whom the men all applaud and the women all dote on — 

Bright, stylish and pretty, noble Helen Henrotin. 91 



SPICEWOOD VERSUS SASSAFRAS 

(Answer to Tac Hussey's Ode to Sassafras Tea) 

I'VE jist bin readiu Brother Tac, 

* About your Hoosier tea, 

That satisfyin Sassafras, 

Which however nice 't may be 

Don't fill the place near half so good 
As that tother Hoosier tea, Spicewood. 

Sassafras may fix the blood 

And git it jist 'bout right, 

But to put the brain in pioperest mood 

And make it quick and bright 

Try that spicy, odorous, liquid food 
That's biled right out of young Spicewood. 

Now Tansey bitters in the Spring 

And Juleps later on, 

In the good old days were just the thing 

But now them days are gone. 

Yet the seasons' drink that's always good 
Is the consolin tea made from Spicewood. 

Now Catnip tea, it has some claims 

With the risin' generation 

And no one now the mother blames 

For dealin' out sich rations. 

But the young uns they jist never could 
Like it half so well as from Spicewood. 
92 



i 



Spicewood Versus Sassafras 

Of course we had to have store tea 

When the preacher cum around 

Gunpowder, Hyson or Bohea 

But there's nothin better I'll be bound 

Than the tea that mother always brewed 
From the tender sprouts of young Spicewood. 

"What tho the spicy breezes 

Blow soft o'er Ceylon's Isle?" 

There's naught that better pleases 

Nor quicker brings a smile 

Nor makes you feel jist as you should 
Than tea that's made from young Spicewood. 

Jist drink a cup of Spicewood tea 

As you sit out on the verandy 

And I'll engage that you'll agree 

And likewise your Mirandy 

That the neatest drink you ever stood 

Was what was made from young Spicewood. 

Well now I think my brother Hoosier 

I've given you quite enough, — 

I like it too and won't abuse yer 

Favrite medicine stuff 

But as a drink it never could 

Come up to tea made from Spicewood. 



93 



WHEN MARY CLIMBED THE TREE 

(By ) 

/"~\N every bough ripe cherries hung, 
^-^At every breeze they swayed and swung 

And Mary climbed the tree. 
The feeding robins flew away 
As Mary climbed that summer day 

And Jack he stopped to see. 

Watching the feat with open eyes, — 
Watching her feet in wild surprise 

While Mary climbed the tree; 
And then he drew from out the shade 
Of the cherry tree and chaffed the maid 

Who cried in misery; 

"Go away," she said and held her gown, 
But he said: "I'll stay till you come down, 

I'll never leave you bet." 
Sing "Hey for the joker" who laughed in glee 
At the weeping maid in the cherry tree; 

She's sitting up there yet. 



94 



\.xvv\\Vx\VW».\\\\»N 



LATER FROM MARY UP THE TREE 

(By Effem) 

j\ jOW waiting long, Jack thirsty got, 
* ^ Yet vowed he would not leave the spot 

With Mary up the tree. 
But at the well, he said: "I think 
I'll try to get a hasty drink, 

With an eye to Mary free." 

So he lowered the bucket down the well 
And as it to the bottom fell, 

Unto himself said he: 
"Mary will soon come humbly down 
And I'll kiss away her pretty frown 

Or, I'll keep her up the tree." 

Then he dropped the sweep and the bucket came up 
And he stooped to drink for he had no cup 

And Mary, she laughed, "Te Hee!" 
For she saw her chance and took it too, 
While Jack he swore till the air was blue, 

As Mary slid down from the tree. 



95 



POETRY BY THE YARD 

npO make Poetry by the yard, 
*■ Is not given to the common bard. 
It is considered quite complete 
When manufactured into feet. 
While rhymesters like myself, it pinches, 
To even get it up in inches. 
Some will ask it, — please don't smile, 
Ground out all finished by the mile. 
But poor me, without divine afflatus, 
To write Poems; Deo Amatus! 
I cannot think I'd be forgiven, 
So great a crime 'gainst Art or Heaven. 

To make the kind of rhymes I write, 

You find a line to end with night, 

Then take a line that ends with dove, 

And put it down to rhyme with love. 

Then there's the dear adjective sweet, — 

Be sure you get the proper feet, — 

Then end another line with bliss, 

And go right on, somewhat like this: 

"Tra-la-la-la-Pretty Miss, 

"Boom ta-ra-ra — steal a kiss." 

It is easy very when the machine's all right, 

You can keep it going along all night. 

The only trouble is the way to flop 

When you want the tarnal thing to stop. 



96 



RENUNCIATION 

(To My Fair Critic) 

I'LL never, no never! I declare never more, 

*■ Mount my lame old Pegasus and let him soar, 

But all that I write shall be the dullest of Prose 

And I'll keep straight on from the start to the close. 

I've a beautiful thought, somewhere in my mind, 

And if encouraged to hunt, I'm sure I could find 

A poetical nugget of richest gold 

But it shall stay where it is and never be told. 

For you plainly advise to keep my muse out of sight, 
When you hint that I don't but say that I'might, 

If I'd try very hard, write a fair sort of verse, 

Yes! My genius undoubtedly needs a good nurse. 

But you, after all, have been most to blame, 

For 'twas you who inspired and you've been the theme, 
The trouble has been with all that I've rhymed, 

That the dress was not worthy the Goddess enshrined. 



97 



FAIE, FAT AND FORTY 

(On Her Fortieth) 

COME listen to my timely lay, 
'Twill make a pleasant sortie 
To sing of one, who on this day, 
Is Fair and Fat and Forty. 

This one is sweet as she is fair; 
She's cheery, kind and hearty; 
She never pulls her hubby's hair, 

For she's fair and fat and forty. 

She has a heart that's good as gold, 
She ne'er is cross or tarty, 
She rules her house, but doesn't scold, 
For she's fair and fat and forty. 

Although she towers above us all 
She's never proud or haughty, 
Nor puts on airs, because she's tall 
And fair and fat and forty. 

She's chic but not a woman new, 
Full of fun but no wise sporty, 
She's up to all that's right and true, 
She's fair and fat and forty. 

So here's to the day that she was born, 
'Twas near a Christmas party. 
She was young and small that wintry morn, 
Now, she's fair and fat and forty. 

And here's to her, I know you'll say, 
You do not think it naughty, 
To drink to one who is to-day, 

Still fair, though fat and forty. 93 



ONE AND FORTY 

TF I were only forty one 
* I'd think I were a boy 
And yet I am a sort of one, 
For still I love a toy. 

And little girls of forty-one 

Are just my very style, — 
A fair and fat and forty one 

Can please me all the while. 

I would that I were forty-one 

Instead of one and eighty, 
I'm sure we'd ne'er be short of fun, 

We'd drop all matters weighty. 

So I wish you joy at forty-one 

And blessings best in life; 
And if you wish it, naughty one, 

That you'll be some good man's wife. 

But if that happens O Forty-one! 

What would become of me? 
If thus you'd leave the heart you've won 

To die in misery? 

"Hie Jacet poor old Eighty-one" 

Would be my epitaph 
"Killed by neglect of Forty-one" 

And Everybody'd laugh. 



99 



IMS BIRTH DAY 
(April 4th) 

These lines are in honor 

Of a comical gent, 
Who, a burden upon her 

Was mercilessly sent 
To a suffering earth 

(Though scarcely his fault 
At the time of his birth 

For such an assault.) 

This gent he was born 

A long time ago 
The world to adorn 

For a century or so, 
'Twas in April he came 

Though not on the first 
But so close to the time 

That Fate near did its worst. 

For all of the worry 

For which he's to blame 
He sometimes is sorry 

That ever he came. 
But if 'twas to do over 

It's as certain as sin 
He's such an old rover 

He'd sure come again. 
100 



His Birth Day 

Now his hair it is gray 

And his nose long and red 
But he's not a bit bare 

On the top of his head, 
Which all goes to show 

His hair's on pretty tight, 
Or his wife's a bit slow 

In exercising her right. 

It's a moderate sized head 

With not too much inside it; 
To go early to bed 

He ne'er could abide it. 
To get up in the morning 

He's not much inclined, 
And I'll give you fair warning 

He's often behind. 

He likes a good horse 

But don't care for cats. 
Excepting of course 

To clear out the rats. 
Don't object to a dog 

If he don't bark at night, 
Tho' he sleeps like a log 

Yet he never gets tight. 



101 



His Birth Day 

For he ne'er draws a cork, 

Howe'er you may doubt it 
And he don't like to work 

You know all about it. 
As in the story you tell, 

You have it by heart 
"If the corn isn't shelled 

You may drive on your cart." 

Now for a man to be poor 

And deucedly plain 
And to have very little 

Of which to be vain, 
On his family's account 

It's exceedingly sad he 
Should happen to be 

Such a numerous daddy. 

He's a bit of a crank 

But not much of a dude, he 
Always is Frank 

And yet he is Moody. 
But ever and always 

He's down on his bills, 
(Which sometimes he pays) 

As Frank Moody Mills. 



102 



TRILBY AT ZERO 

\/OU ask for a poem! With your request 
*■ I'm bound to comply but you do not suggest 
Your choice of a subject, you scarce can expect your 
Old friend to know, he can only conjecture. 

However, just now two themes are at hand, — 
One trite and one nearly so, you understand: — 
The Weather and Trilby, — to decide is the bother 
So here is something of one and a little of the other. 

Now this is not the pleasantest weather 
In which to pose for "The Altogether," 
For of all the seasons I don't suppose 
There's a better time for wearing clothes. 

But if one is called on to do so, 

That is to pose without any trousseau, — 

If you must do a thing so awfully horrid 

Best select a time when the temperature's torrid. 

And I really think that to pose a-la-Trilby, 
There never has been and I'm sure never will be 
A more seasonable time, than the month of June, 
Or, say July if June is too soon. 

Now though by some it's thought to be shocking 
For the foot to be seen outside of the stocking, 
Yet if cornless and shapely, neat and petite 
There's no better way for serving up feet. 

103 



Trilby at Zero 

Now there's not much to be said but has been said before, 
But perhaps it won't hurt just to say it once more: 
"Is it cold enough for you?" Wasn't Du Maurier silly 
To kill off instead of marrying Trilby and Billy?" 

But both subjects soon will be picked so bare, 
That ladies will blush and gentlemen stare. 
The one minus fuel and the other without clothes 
Is enough to make a bachelor lose his repose. 



104 



A FATEFUL MOONLIGHT SERENADE 

A maiden sat in gaslight glimmer 
** And stood in moonlight's silver shimmer, 
A haggard singer waning slimmer 
(As the moon waxed bright and the gas grew dimmer.) 

He raised his voice and sang a ditty, 
Of love and grief and— more's the pity, 
He sang in tones that were not gritty; 
(Tones fit for church yard but not for city). 

His song was was one of love and woe, 
(As noted just above you know), 
It ended but he could not go 
Because he truly loved her so. 

O why should either longer linger? 

Why should either song or singer, 

Either joy or sorrow bring her 

(Or conscience, (with its stinger) sting her?) 

why should heart and pride so fail her 
Or his grief so strong assail her 
And his mournful song so deathly pale her? 
(Is it remorse or does something ail her?) 

Ah! Her conscience promptly told her 
And her heart too as it grew bolder 
That only his arms should enfold her. 
(And so they will ere they're much older). 

105 



A Fateful Moonlight Serenade 

Then broken at once was every fetter, 
To him she rushed, he quickly met her 
And both to love were only debtor, 
(And both decidedly felt much better). 

And as their nerves began to tingle 
And their arms and lips to mingle, 
They vowed to remain no longer single. 
(The wedding bells will erelong jingle). 

Now the past to them seems queerly 
And the stream of Love runs clearly 
For they love each other dearly. 
(This I note in passing merely). 

Now they together longer linger 
And she loves the song as she loves the singer 
For did it not her true love bring her? 
(That's why he felt constrained to ring her.) 



106 



DISPUTED THE COUNT 

/~\NCE I made a solemn vow 

^"-' That in due time I'd have somehow, 

From my love a million kisses. 
But e'er the pleasant task was done 
Fearing too soon the vow'd be won 

She claimed in the count some misses. 

She cried the job I ne'er should finish 
And that my chance she might diminish 

Ruthlessly wiped out the score, 
And said to me with hearty cheer, 
"Life is short I know my dear, 

But you'll have to begin the count once more. 



LOVE'S PERJURY 

T swore to her a year ago 

*■ I could not love her dearer. 

I lied, when then I told her so 
For now she's so much nearer. 

For day by day she's sweeter grown, 

I fear I'll lose the prize. 
My love so large from small seed sown. 
Has got beyond my size. 

107 



THE BRIDGED JINGLET 

"r)OETA Nascitur non fit." 

*• So the poem asked for cannot be writ. 
It is even hard for me to pose 
As a fairish writer of common prose. 
As for verses to my sweetheart's ringlet 
I scarce could make a silly jinglet. 
If insisted on I'd have to bridge it 
By calling on some scribbling midget. 
With me Hearts are always trumps, 
But my muse is mostly in the dumps • 
And I am forced to dig and dig 
And if I unluckily renig 
I'm plainly told to follow suit 
And not go after forbidden fruit. 
Thus you see I'm doubly troubled 
By always having my troubles doubled. 



108 



THE NEW YEAR 

F_7 VERY day brings something new." 

^— ' I scarce believe the adage true; 

But take the new year from the First 

Tho' it promise best may prove the worst; — 

Hail happy day! Tis gone! The Second 

Comes, but that on which we reckoned, 

Somehow seems to be deferred, 

To come in doubtless on the Third 

But the clouds, they gather, the rain it poureth 

And so is ushered in the Fourth. 

The sunshine expected on the Fifth 

Proves but a wintry, Misty myth. 

The Sixth repeats or maybe blows. 

While on the Seventh, see! it snows! 

Good weather like good luck comes late, 

Surely the Eighth will bring good fate 

Or all that's needed may combine 

Around the magic number Nine. 

And so at last we reach the date, 

Beyond which we may not calculate, 

Old Eighteen Hundred and fast asleep, 

Made some rejoice and many weep. 



109 



EFFEMORISMS 



w 1 



rHAT is there amiss 
In taking a kiss 
From a lass if she doesn't much mind it? 
Such a moment of bliss 
As there is in this 
One should snatch whenever one finds it. 

WHEN with fair lady on the tide, 
A gallant man a-boating goes, 
What product of war is not denied? 

Why of course you know! He rows. (Heroes) 

TT is easy to be good in Lent 
I When there's no fun to be had 
Nor gold to be spent, 

But after Easter we'll all be bad. 



B 



UT this is the time when the truly good 
For forty days must keep sawing wood. 

Ill 



THE POET LAURE ATE 

yOU'VE heard of the Poet Laureate, 
■ I'm sure he must have been tender 
For if he'd been tough 'twould have been quite enough 
I know in misery to end her; 
But 'twas sad he met so delicious a fate 
When there was not such another to send her. 



m: 



MOTHER-IN-LAW 

(Answer to Tac Hussey's Ode to Her) 
OTHER-IN-LAW thy name is pleasure;" 
^Thus she is in pretty measure 
By Tac's facile pen portrayed; 
But Poet dear! we must protest — 
Tho' as for you it may be best, 
We like her better as a maid. 



M 



(Sentiment on a Birthday with Flowers) 

AY each returning year bring choicest flowers, 
That bud from sweet content and happy hours. 



112 



"NIT" 

HE'S true and noble, full of grit; 
Pie's all that's good but then — he's "Nit." 
Upright as any crooked stick; 
His head's on right, but my! how thick. 
He's gentle as any balky horse 
And winsome as a mule of course. 
For everything that's good he's fit, 
But pity 'tis — he's aber "Nit." 

SOL IN ECLIPSE 

OH Luna! Oh Luna! I'm now in eclipse, 
To be left all alone it is brutal, 
If I could be near you to hang on your lips 
I wouldn't care much if 'twere total. 

THE world is all a fleeting show" 
With no admission price. 
See all you can 'fore out you go 
You cannot get in twice. 

TRILBY'S EPIGRAM 

LIFE'S not all Beer and Skittles 
You have to hustle for clothes and victuals, 
But what's the odds, so long's you're happy 
If you can't always have your Champagne Frappe. 
113 



AN ACCEPTANCE 

p\EAR Major: 

*-^ You know I'm not gifted in prancing 

So I'll ask you to kindly excuse me from dancing, 

But I'm sure to be there and I know you'll be thinking 

That I make a full hand at eating and drinking. 

As you are the host 'tis but fair I should say: 

You've a right to have things about your own way, 

But while I am of but little account in the whirls 

I'm quite convenient in looking after the girls, 

And knowing you enjoy it, 'tis without hesitation 

I confess I don't object to a little flirtation, — 

So look out my gallant, I don't tread on your toes, 

But I'll not give you away, for all's "under the rose." 



I loved a lass. Alas! 
She loved not me. 
So let it pass. 
The world is wide 

And wind and tide 
Are running free. 



114 



NINETEEN HUNDRED 

TF in Life's daily path you oft have blundered 
* And in unwilling ears your faults been thundered, 
If of fame and fortune you've been plundered 
And from hope and love been rudely sundered, 
Or, if in what century you live, you've wondered; 
Take heart! You'll little care in another hundred. 



TN the wrestling game of Life, 
* Where man has to match man, 
He's the winner in the strife 

Who best may "catch as catch can. 



SWEET are the uses of adversity," 
But such is man's perversity, 
(And I tell it in all verity), 
That he'd glad omit the sweetness 
And accept the deepest bitterness, 
Of up-to-date prosperity. 



THE heart ne'er grows old 
And should never get cold, 
But love on and keep warm, 
Until under the mold. 

115 



AFTER 

THERE is much to be said 
For the man who is dead. 

He was honest and brainy and true. 
But you cannot expect, 
That in taking his text, 

The preacher will mean it for you. 
For it's according to rule, 
Tho' the man be a fool 

And his record none of the best, 
That when he is gone 
And his epitaph drawn, 

Lo! his name heads all the rest. 



116 



L 



KID'S CORNER 

WIDOW RED HEN'S PARTY 

ITTLE Widow Red Hen a party gave, 
What a funny bunch it was to have: 
A bachelor cock and a tabby cat, 
A pig and a pup, and an old brown rat. 
R-A-T, rat, came first to see, 
C-A-T, cat, Oh where was she? 
P-I-G, hog, (Don't you like his feet?) 
D-O-G, pup, you'll see him eat. 

Here comes cat, now you'll see fun. 

R-A-T, rat just see him run. 

Away he goes to hunt his hole 

You couldn't reach him with a ten foot pole. 

Cock jumps fence and flaps his wings, 

Red Hen runs around corner and sings. 

Now cat after rat and dog after cat, — 

C-A-T, cat can't stand that; 

So off she turns and runs up tree. 

Dog follows after and barks at she. 

Now the rest of the party away on their uppers, 

P-I-G hog, eats up their suppers. 

117 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER IN 1894 

(Strictly for Home Consumption) 

(Written the morning of the Dinner and read thereat and 

printed here by request, without change or correction. 

This by way of apology for its crudeness) 

F)UT once a year does Christmas come 

■— ' To make all happy and bright, — 

To welcome all the children home 

'Tis then the old folks delight. 

So grizzly "Old Pops" and his cheery spouse 
Thought they'd give a Christmas dinner, 
For all their girls and all their boys 
And not miss a single sinner. 

So they opened up the house all over, 
Hung up the mistletoe and holly, 
That every one might feel in clover 
And all be merry and jolly. 

Now this Christmas brings us all of age 
For we count just Twenty One, 
And though supposed to be very sage 
We're bound to have some fun. 

The kitchen was a busy place 
With Julia on the throne, — 
Christina with her shining face 
And a clean white apron on. 

118 



The Christmas Dinner in 1894 

At length Queen Julia gave the word, — 
The appointed hour had come, 
And all sat down to the festive board, 
With plenty of elbow room. 

"Old Pops" sat at the tables head, 
(He cribbed the sharpest carver), 
While at the foot, sawed, near Kitty, Ed, 
You bet he didn't starve her. 

Charley the fat and not very lean Blanche 
And Ethel with her only Love, 
And Kitty with Dan just in from the ranche, — 
Roger ready his prowess to prove. 

Then John the blond and Clara the fair 
And Nettie to pour out the tea, — 
They're a mighty good lot and no one will dare 
I am sure, to dispute it with me. 

But only the older ones yet have been named; 
To the juniors I must now call attention, 
At table these youngsters are already famed, 
Their capacity is worthy of mention. 

There's Princess Nan and Cousin Frank 
They've caused us many a song and dance. 
They've played us many a funny prank, 
"I call it a singular circumstance." 



119 



The Christmas Dinner in 1894 

Then Katharine so fair, so pretty and peart, 
And Frankie the Finkbine joy, 
Baby Ruth, the pride of the jockey's heart 
And little Edwin, his daddy's own boy. 

And last, but not least, 'mongst girls and boys, 
Is Mildred with the deep blue eyes 
And Carroll the kid, who in making a noise, 
Can beat any chap of his size. 

Only yesterday, these midgets, so good yet so bad 
For which I've their mother to thank: 
"Oh get out," they said to their venerable Dad, 
When for their mischief, he threatened to spank. 

But for dinner now our attention is claimed, — 

For it we're all ready quite, 

And I'm sure Julia should not be blamed 

If we're not all sick to-night. 

A turkey at each end of the table, 
With oysters, cranberries and potatoes, 
Chicken salad, wine jelly, (I'm telling no fable) 
Celery, pickles, turnips and tomatoes. 

Then fruited ice cream, mince pies and cakes, 
And other dishes of much pretension, 
With rich plum pudding and other fat takes 
Too numerous and nameless to mention. 



120 



The Christmas Dinner in 1894 

Besides coffee for the elders and tea for old Pops 

While the dear little darling's 

Had to be put off with slops — 

To be followed soon after by peppermint drops. 

Well, the jokes and the laughs and the nuts go round 

While all young and old fill up, — 

But the glory of the day at length is crowned 

As they pass each other the Loving Cup. 

And they think of the absent, how dear they be, 

So near yet so far in their distant home, — 

Little Walton and Bert and "Sweet Marie" 

And of Kittie and Ruth who at the last couldn't come. 

And of Grandmas and Grandpas, 

Uncles, cousins and aunts, 

Dear friends and sweethearts and old Santa Claus 

Who so kindly remembered their wants. 

Then they rise from the table in soberer mood 
For every one seems at the last quite subdued. 
Then a rest for the girls and a smoke for the boys, 
And for a while there's a lull in the noise. 

Then games for the children and a rubber or two, 
The night's coming on, the day's about through, 
A "Merry Christmas it's been" so every one said 
And all hie to their homes and soon are in bed. 



121 



LITTLE BAREFOOT 'S CHRISTMAS 

SING a song o' Christmas! 
Pocket full of rocks, 
Spend it all for nic nax 
And fill up the sox. 

When the sox are opened 

And the hells hegin to ring, 

Out come the treasures 

For the children of the King. 

But poor little Barefoot 

Never had no sox; 
Never had no Sunday suit, 

Nothin' got but knocks. 

No one to him candy sent, 

Nor ever gave him toys, 
Hungry to his bed he went 

One of God's saddest little boys. 



THERE'S a little old man 
with wheels in his head, 
In his feet, he has springs 
And in his arms, it is said, 
Which keep running so fast 
He can't go to bed. 

122 



NOTHING NEW 

'THERE are a few things under the sun 
*■ That are well established every one; 
That water uphill will never run; 
Tho' you lead the horse to the water's brink 
Try as hard as you will, you can't make him drink. 
For it's ever been so 
And these truths all know: 

That black is not white. 

That dark is not light, 

That blue's ever true, 

That he who will work 

Can have something to do. 

That she'll never grow old 

If she never will scold; 

That what nobody wants 

Is ne'er bought or sold. 

That pigmies are small 

And giants are tall, 

That pigs will squeal 

And children will bawl, 

That what costs nothing 

Is worth nothing at all. 



123 



SHOOTING THE CHUTES 

'""pHE fun of the boys in looting the fruit, 
* Is nothing compared to Shooting the Chute. 
I'll give you long odds, with money to boot 
And if I am beaten you may pocket the loot. 

Toot-a-toot! Grab a root! 
There's nothing so cute as Shooting the Chute! 

The man who won't go a-shooting the chute 
And take his girl with him is naught but a brute, 
And her daddy should give him the toe of his boot 
Without any chance for renewing his suit. 

Toot-a-toot! Grab a root! 
There's nothing so nice as Shooting the Chute! 

When you go serenading and are tooting the flute, 
And think this the best way the dear girls to suit, 
You will find it much easier to keep in repute, 
By taking them often a-shooting the chute. 

Toot-a-toot! Grab a root! 
There's nothing so jolly as Shooting the Chute. 



124 



KITTY McGEE 

(Society Girls Give a Baby Clothes Party) 
AH Kitty McGee! Gay Baby McGee! 
^^ You fly one, you sly one! 
What's this that I see? 

To a party you've gone 

With your baby clothes on 
The roliest, poliest, sweetest baby in town. 

Oh Kitty McGee, Charming Kitty McGee! 

You fairy, so airy, 
From trouble so free! 

Now I'm in such a pickle 

I'd give my last nickel 
If you'd ever remember there's e'er such a one-r as me. 

Oh Kitty McGee, dear Kitty McGee! 

For what is it and why is it, 
You've gone back on me? 

I can't do a thing, 

I can't laugh or sing, 
I'd sigh and I'd cry e'en your own baby bottle to be. 

Oh Kitty McGee, Sweet Kitty McGee! 

Why don't you? Why won't you 
Once more look at me? 

I'm frayed to a rag 

Hanging on to your drag 
But you don't and you won't ever turn to see me. 

125 



Kitty McGee 

Oh Kitty McGee, Cruel Kitty McGee! 

You know not, you care not 
What it is to me. 

You coquette and flirt 

And play in the dirt 
But you won't make and won't bake mud pies any more 
with me. 

Oh Baby McGee, Sweet Baby McGee! 

You grieve me, you leave me 
In deep misery 

Now your tender heart ope 

And give me some hope, 
And bring "Pitti Sing," Your sweet baby self back to me 

Oh Kitty McGee, Dear Kitty McGee! 

Now won't you, say won't you, 
Be true to me? 

For Baby tho' queerest, 

You're still nearest and dearest 
To your faithful and loving, Your Little Boy Blue. 



126 



SECOND GENERATION LYRICS 



A FIRST EFFORT 

Marjorie Dorothy Mildred Mills 

Is a little girl I know, 
She lives in a great big yellow house 

On a corner of the street below. 

She went out one day with her sister to play 
And her sister said: Come along 
Marjorie Dorothy Mildred Mills, 
And that is how I know. 

— (Ten Year Old Mildred.) 



A THRESHING MACHINE SYNDICATE 

Jones and Smith went half and half 
Jones took the wheat left Smith the chaff. 
(So writes Smith's ten-year-old boy Webb.) 



Webb, (grown up), wrote not only the celebrated Hound 
Dog song and what it meant on the next page, but the beautiful 
poem on another page in this volume entitled, "It Passed 
Away." 



127 



WHAT IT MEANS 

They put old Jim dawg in the poun', 
They chased the author roun' and roun' 
But the song itself they could'nt down — 
"They Gotta Quit Kickin' my Dawg Aroun'." 

It's sung from Maine to Puget Soun' 

An' every other song is drowned — 

It always comes back with a bound, 

"They Gotta Quit Kickin' my Dawg Aroun'." 

It pleased the thinkers most profound, 
It tickled rulers much renowed, 
That simple song of the Ozark hound, 
"They Gotta Quit Kickin' my Dawg Aroun'." 

Some would-be statesmen tried to frown — 
Some said the author was a clown, 
But all he said an' his teeth he ground, 
"They Gotta Quit Kickin' my Dawg Aroun'." 

What mean those words so quaint in sound 
That doth the whole wide world astound — 
That doth Oppression's might confound? 
"They Gotta Quit Kickin' my Dawg Aroun'." 

They mean just what they say by Zound' — 
You kin run it up and run it down, 
But you kin bet your hat or crown 
"They Gotta Quit Kickin' my Dawg Aroun'." 
— Webb M. Oungst. 



128 







- 



